


Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone

by cravetherose



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Gideon is fifteen minutes late with Starbucks, Memes, No hurt unless you hate pumpkin spice, Post-Harrow the Ninth (Locked Tomb Trilogy), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26701057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cravetherose/pseuds/cravetherose
Summary: For the prompt: "The Locked Tomb trilogy, any, returned to your own body and life"Originally posted as commentfic at sholio's"Hold Me: A Comfort Promptfest."Slightly revised.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: Hold Me: A Comfort Prompfest





	Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/gifts).



> SPOILERS for the very end of _Harrow the Ninth!_

A small, thin girl sat on a low wall in the park by herself, utterly by herself, occasionally looking around her with a small smile on her lips, enjoying everything: the blue sky, the splashing fountain, the screaming children, the blare of the traffic. She had a narrow, almost vulpine face, with very dark hair and eyebrows, but her eyes blazed gold.

Another girl approached her, much taller and broader, a muscle shirt showing off her thick arms; the black aviators perched on top of her head were almost hidden by her wild, intensely red hair. She had the elongated, larger-than-life look very tall women often do, with long fingerbones, long arm and leg bones, and a long, broad face. The first girl looked past her, as if they didn't know each other, but when the second girl sat down familiarly right by her she said, still without looking over: "You're late."

"I know. But look what I have decided in my heart to give to you." The other girl dramatically whipped off a thin cardboard cover to reveal two tall drink containers, steam escaping through the holes punched in the plastic lids. "Pumpkin spice latte, quintuple shot, with extra whip and two pumps mocha, caramel drizzle, and sea salt." She handed over the big cardboard cup, which had "HARRY" carefully printed on it in block letters. Her own cup had "BRIE STIR" written on it.

Harry looked at the cup dubiously. "Pumpkin?"

"No, soup-for-brains, pumpkin spice. You know what _spices_ are, don't you? What's in the little shakers that other people put on their food."

"Sorry I'm not your Spice Girl," Harry said dryly, and took a cautious sip of her drink. It tasted more like sickly sweet tea stewed for days than anything else, with a kick like the residue you had to scrub off a burned pot. _"You_ don't even know what pumpkin tastes like."

"I do too. It's round and orange, okay? It's related to oranges. I know you've had oranges."

"I _liked_ oranges. This doesn't taste like oranges."

Brie shrugged. "They're distant relatives. Cousins. Totally cousins."

Harry looked for the first time at Brie's eyes, true black eyes, eyes so black the pupil sometimes seemed lighter than the surrounding iris, or didn't even show. Brie smiled back. "A stapes for your thoughts."

"I'm not really thinking," Harry said, reveling in the truth. I'm looking, I'm listening, I'm tasting, she thought, and not thinking any thoughts other than my own: there is nobody here inside my head but me.


End file.
